


Long Weekend

by Jabberwocky (Sisterwives)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Barnacle Boyfriends, Blowjobs, Choking, Deepthroating, Enthusiastically Consensual Sex, M/M, PWP, Rough Oral Sex, Snark, handjobs, throatfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisterwives/pseuds/Jabberwocky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon has some goals in mind for the long weekend. Straight up porn that is literally just an excuse to write enthusiastic blowjobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> As with the other Barnacle Boyfriends work I posted, I'm still not totally sure whether or not to write out Napoleon's accent. I welcome constructive feedback on whether you like it or not!

Hhectore was always glad to see the tail end of a Friday (the kids were even more reckless than usual, and excitement over the impending weekend distracted them, which was not a good thing to be in shop class), but he was exceptionally glad when he got home on this particular Friday.

“So,” he said, unceremoniously tossing his briefcase on the couch and untucking his shirt. “It’s a long weekend. You said you had something in mind?” Napoleon had indeed said this that morning when they were getting ready for work, with a smirk that suggested that whatever it was, it would involve very little clothing.  Its salacious effect hadn’t been entirely diminished by the fleck of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth, and Hhectore had been trying to figure it out all day. Napoleon outright refused to tell him, even when he joined him in the woodshop’s office for lunch.

Hhectore was pretty sure he was just being obstinate to be a tease, because he _knew_  if he kept him in suspense, he’d spend all day thinking about what they could be doing later. And he was right.

“Mmmm, yeah, sree days should be enough time for my voice to recover eef eet were to, I don’t know, go hoarse from excessive activity…” Napoleon brushed up against him, hands skimming up his waist.

Hhectore loved it when Napoleon was all enigmatic and sultry, but he needed to make sure that he was understanding this correctly. Brow furrowed, he clasped Napoleon’s shoulders and held him at arm’s length to look him in the eyes. “You want me to throatfuck you?”

It was crude, but sometimes there was just no romantic way to put it. There was a difference between making love and fucking, and Hhectore and Napoleon were well versed in both.

“Somesing like zat, yeah,” Napoleon said, his voice light and nonchalant as he smoothed down the front of Hhectore’s shirt. “I want to wake up tomorrow sounding like I have a cat een my sroat.”

Hhectore was more than on board with this mission, but he still had to give Napoleon a weird look at his choice of expression. “You mean a ‘frog in your throat’?”

“What? No, zat’s stupid.”

“Not as stupid as ‘cat in your throat.’ Who even says that.”

Napoleon glowered up at him. “Ze French.”

“Fuck the French.”

“Zat was ze general idea, yeah. Maybe eef you didn’t keep changing ze subject, you could be doing zat yourself.”

Hhectore rolled his eyes at the snottiness in his voice. “I  _will_  be ‘doing zat myself,’” he mocked, jostling Napoleon’s shoulder.

It was supposed to be a playful shove, but he was used to pushing his buddies from the Navy, all of them over six feet tall and solidly built. When it came to being physical with Napoleon, who was a good four inches shorter than the shortest of the lot and weighed half as much, he often miscalculated the amount of force necessary to stagger him. He winced as Napoleon stumbled back, realizing too late that he had forgotten to keep his strength in check.

“Oh shit, sorry—” He started to apologize, but faltered at the look on Napoleon’s face, fire in those icy blue eyes.

In one swift motion, he used the couch as a springboard to scale Hhectore’s body, locking his legs around his waist and kissing him with an intensity that always managed to surprise him.

Hhectore responded with equal passion, experience enabling him to blindly navigate around the couch and shove him against the wall.

Napoleon was a lot of things —arrogant, selfish, snobby— but if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a passive partner. There was a reason he possessed that old, ratty “power bottom” tee-shirt that he frequently wore around the house on lazy days. Even when he was tied up or pinned down, he knew how to reciprocate, and now, sandwiched between Hhectore’s bulk and the wall, was no different. He slung his arms around Hhectore’s neck to keep from slipping, hips grinding into him with a feverish kind of desperation.

Hhectore shifted his weight to hoist him further up the wall, giving him easier access to the unmarked stretch of skin on the right side of his neck. An obscene moan escaped Napoleon’s lips, and he wormed a hand between them to palm at his own cock, which was starting to strain uncomfortably against the tight fabric of his pants.

“No,” he managed, his voice reluctant but firm. “You’re getting distracted. You’re supposed to—“

“Fuck your face, I know. Indulge me for a moment here,” Hhectore said, sucking a bruise into the patch of flesh below his jawbone. They didn’t have work for three days, three whole days where Napoleon didn’t have to worry about covering up for his job, and he intended to take full advantage of this.

“Just take me to ze bedroom,” Napoleon ordered.

“Right, because I’m your personal chariot.  _Your majesty_ ,” Hhectore said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“You  _are_  my personal chariot.” Napoleon latched on to the collar of Hhectore’s shirt, gripping it like a set of reins. “Allez hue!”

“I don’t— that’s not— fine.” Like he did with so many of the things his boyfriend said, Hhectore chose to let the exclamation pass unchallenged. Getting to their bed was a bigger priority than contesting his apparent status as Napoleon’s private horse.

Hhectore kicked open the bedroom door and, wasting no time with preamble, bodily threw him onto the bed. He knew how much Napoleon got off on the fact that he could toss him around like a rag doll, and it caused Hhectore no small amount of pleasure to see him immediately stretch out his body in offering. He tore off his shirt, the snap-style buttons coming undone with a single long rip (Napoleon could criticize his fashion sense all he wanted; at least  _his_  clothes were easy to get on and off) before stripping off his undershirt.

Napoleon, meanwhile, had slipped a hand up his shirt and was watching him with interest, waiting to be undressed like the prince he believed himself to be. 

It was a good thing Hhectore didn’t mind catering to his partner’s narcissistic whims. “Move.” He grabbed a fistful of Napoleon’s ruffled shirt and hauled him over, giving him space to climb onto the bed.

God, Hhectore hated that shirt. There was something about the combination of ruched ruffles and slim-fit sleeves that struck him as absolute ridiculous, and he wasn’t entirely sure he believed Napoleon’s insistence that he bought it from the men’s department. European fashion mystified him. He’d take the sweater vests over this monstrosity, and he thought sweater vests were stupid.

He knelt between Napoleon’s spread legs, searching the folds of the tight black shirt for the topmost button. They locked eyes, and they both realized they knew what the other was thinking.

“Don’t rip eet,” Napoleon said, his voice low and dangerous.

“I don’t know…” Hhectore clucked his tongue. “I can’t promise anything, you know I don’t know my own strength sometimes, just look at ten minutes ago.”

Napoleon clapped his hands on either side of Hhectore’s face, forcing him to make eye contact. “Eef you rip eet, you aren’t getting  _any_  of zis.”

Hhectore snickered. “Bullshit. You’re the one who’s begging for it, not me. You wouldn’t last an hour.”

Napoleon ignored him and started unbuckling Hhectore’s leather belt.

“Fifteen minutes, maybe,” Hhectore continued. “That’s what it was last time you got all huffy, right? You get all withholding, tell me that I’m not getting any tonight, then it’s not long before you come crawling back, begging for my c—“

“Do you  _really_ want to test zat seory?” Napoleon interrupted, yanking the belt out of the loops of his carpenter jeans and hooking it around his neck.

Hhectore considered the question, privately enjoying the way the taut leather dug into his neck. He’d ruined some of Napoleon’s clothes before, sometimes genuinely on accident and sometimes deliberately, and he knew it was a surefire way to rile him up. It always led to  _fantastic_  heated sex, but if his dick was going to be in Napoleon’s mouth, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted him to be angry.

Plus, there was always the possibility, however slim, that he really would go through with the threat. “Not really,” he decided, and Napoleon relinquished his grip.

“Zen don’t.”

“ _Alright_ , princess.” Hhectore undid the shirt’s buttons the proper way and dumped it over the side of the bed into the trashcan. He was reasonably certain Napoleon would find it there later. Like, 95% certain.

He was already working at the fly of Napoleon’s jeans with a practiced hand, thick fingers deft when faced with the familiar task of freeing him from his fitted pants. Napoleon was getting impatient, tugging at his jeans, so Hhectore obliged by shucking them off, boxers right behind them.

He was convinced that Napoleon had been a cat in a past life, because he all but purred at the sight of him, a satisfied hum from somewhere in the back of his throat. For as critical as he could be about Hhectore’s appearance, he really knew how to give his ego a boost every now and then.

Napoleon rolled over onto his stomach so that he was eye-level with Hhectore’s crotch. “Don’t let me get too carried away,” he said, gripping the base of his shaft with one hand. “Zis eesn’t how I want to do eet, but… I can’t resist.”

“You can’t resist, huh?” Hhectore grinned as he threaded a hand through Napoleon’s hair.

“Mm-hm. Consider eet a warmup.” Napoleon wrapped his lips around him, lapping up the bead of precum that had started leaking down his shaft. As eager as he was, he took his sweet time, savoring the taste of him on his tongue as he sucked on the head of his cock. Slowly, almost  _too_  slowly, he took him deeper, until he hit the back of his throat.

Hhectore knew he could take more than that, and he had to actively resist the urge to thrust his hips forward. It was just a warmup, he reminded himself.

But god _damn_  if Napoleon didn’t do a stellar job at making “just a warmup” feel like the main course. Dragging his tongue along the underside of his cock, he slid up before sinking back down. He gripped the base of his shaft, head bobbing with wanton abandon as he stroked what he couldn’t fit in his mouth.

Hhectore hummed with pleasure, sliding his hand down to cradle the back of his neck. Napoleon was never one to do things half-assed (well, sexually speaking — he had no problem doing a half-assed job with the dishes), and he was downright enthusiastic when it came to sucking dick.

Which Hhectore loved, but it made it difficult to keep him on task when they had other activities in mind. “Hey,” he said, tugging Napoleon’s hair to get his attention, but it only served to spur him on. He yanked harder, and he finally looked up at him, annoyance evident in his pale blue eyes.

Hhectore snickered; he couldn’t help but be amused that Napoleon was so irritated at the thought of stopping before he was ready. “Having fun?” he asked.

Napoleon pulled off of him with a satisfying pop, sitting up on his knees. “Well, I _was_ …”

“You’re getting carried away,” Hhectore reminded him.

Napoleon heaved a dramatic sigh and flopped down on his back. “You’re right,” he conceded, and Hhectore took a mental snapshot of this moment; it wasn’t often that he heard those words. “Fine.” Napoleon settled into the bed, wriggling a bit to make sure he was as comfortable as possible. “I’m ready,” he said, opening his mouth expectantly. Hhectore could see the tip of his tongue wetting his bottom lip, salivating with anticipation, and if he hadn’t already been impossibly turned on, that would have done it.

Some part of Hhectore’s brain wanted to say “fuck it” to propriety and shove himself down Napoleon’s throat in one fell swoop, because  _fuck_ , he knew exactly how tantalizing he was being right now. It wasn’t like Napoleon would have minded – he was purposefully trying to tempt him into doing just that, his masochistic streak rearing its ugly head.

But Hhectore was soft-hearted, and Napoleon’s willingness to assume a position that offered him no control over the situation touched him. It was nice to be trusted so implicitly. Still, he didn’t voice his thoughts; Napoleon was never amused when he got sappy during sexually-charged moments.

Hhectore knelt at Napoleon’s head and brushed his fingers over his lips, causing his eyes to flutter open momentarily. They quickly narrowed in annoyance, and Hhectore decided to avoid any impatient comments by giving him something better to do.

Napoleon widened his mouth to better accommodate his girth, and Hhectore waited until he felt him relax around him before pushing in deeper. He kept his thrusts shallow to start, languidly rolling his hips forward. 

Napoleon flattened his tongue against the length of his shaft, utterly unashamed in his need to draw Hhectore in deeper. He slid his arms up over his torso, groping behind him to latch onto Hhectore’s thighs.

He was the kind of person who was used to getting what he wanted, and when he didn’t, he took it. Hhectore called him a spoiled brat, and maybe there was some truth to it. He liked being spoiled in bed, and if Hhectore wasn’t giving him the depth he wanted, he’d rectify that himself. He tugged him deeper, demanding, until he was satisfied.

Slowly, Hhectore slid down his throat until he was buried to the hilt. He held the position, enjoying the way Napoleon swallowed without hesitation, throat constricting relentlessly around him. He was half-convinced he could see the bulge of his cock in his throat (but that might have been an overactive imagination talking), and he traced his fingers over the sharp wings of his collarbone. His Thing for necks was no secret, and even if it had been, the omnipresent hickeys that lined Napoleon’s neck would have betrayed the truth.

He wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed gently, massaging his throat and, by extension, his own dick. Napoleon’s toes curled into the sheets, and he clutched Hhectore tighter than he thought humanly possible. Encouraged, Hhectore decided to test his limits by tightening his grasp, fingers cutting stark white striations into his windpipe. Napoleon jerked underneath him, and even though there was no immediate warning slap, Hhectore relinquished his grip and pulled out so he could breathe.

“Better,” Napoleon gasped once he sucked down a lungful of air.

Hhectore frowned. “Because it was worse before?”

“You said eet, not me.”

“Wh— you  _just said—_ ”

“I  _mean_ , you’re really missing ze point of zis. I’m not going to break eef you fuck me too hard, god.  _Zat_  was better,” he said, gesturing to his neck.

Hhectore considered the constructive criticism. “I can do more of that,” he conceded.

Napoleon’s lips curved into a wicked smirk. “Good,” he crooned, stretching out seductively and tipping his head back.

Hhectore took the bait, grabbing his offered neck just beneath his jawline in a practiced chokehold. It gave him the leverage he needed to angle his head back even more, opening up his throat further for easy access. He couldn’t resist tightening his fingers briefly before letting go.

He waited for Napoleon to catch his breath, just for a quick second, before shoving his cock back into his waiting mouth. He made it a point to deepen his thrusts this time, putting aside any semblance of mercy. 

Napoleon was satisfied with the rougher pace, if the way his fingers curled into the backs of Hhectore’s thighs was any indication. Hhectore could  _see_  how turned on he was – he loved this angle, not because it opened up Napoleon’s throat or because it made it easier to fuck him, but because it gave him a pristine view of how hard he was: the smooth curve of his cock bobbing slightly as he twitched his hips up every time Hhectore thrust into him.

Hhectore wet his lips subconsciously, unable to tamp down the urge to suck him dry. He shoved forward, filling him up until there was nothing left to take, and  _fuck_ , those nails were going to leave a mark. Not that he minded – if he was a biter, then Napoleon was a scratcher, both of them leaving tangible representations of their relationship on each other’s skin.

Hhectore had planned on pulling out entirely and attending to him for a while, but Napoleon thought otherwise. Even like this, he managed to retain a modicum of control, gripping Hhectore tight and anchoring him in place. He pressed his tongue against him and aggressively sucked on the tip of his cock, and Hhectore doubled over with a groan, bracing his arms against the bed.

Not for the first time, he lamented their size difference. Sixty-nining was physically impossible, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. “You know, it’s too bad you’re so short,” he said, breath ragged as he drove himself further down his throat. “I didn’t know what I was getting into, having such a tiny boyfriend.”

Napoleon managed some kind of strangled noise that Hhectore took to be indignation, an assumption that proved correct when Napoleon took his hand off his ass just long enough to flip him off.

He chuckled and leaned down to plant a kiss on his knee. “It’s okay, I love my tiny boyfrie—” He didn’t  _quite_  get to finish the word, because his only-slightly-shorter-than-average boyfriend chose that moment to show off his expert mastery of his throat muscles. “Fuck, you’re good,” he breathed, his voice husky with arousal at the sensation of Napoleon swallowing around him.

Napoleon squirmed beneath him, conflicted; he wanted to hold onto Hhectore for dear life, but he couldn’t ignore his own aching cock anymore. He pulled one hand away long enough to grip himself, the other gouging claw marks into Hhectore’s skin. Hhectore watched, transfixed, as he worked his hand between his legs.

He might not have been able to reciprocate the way he wanted, but he wasn’t entirely out of options. Napoleon didn’t protest when his hand was nudged aside, but then, it was kind of hard to do so with a full mouth. Slim hips twitched upwards as Hhectore wrapped his hand around the base of his shaft and took over.

He timed each stroke perfectly, tugging upward every time he plunged his hips forward. But it only lasted for a few seconds, until, with one particularly rough thrust and a practiced twist of his wrist, Napoleon’s knee jerked up. He smacked Hhectore, who startled and immediately backed off.

“Sorry,” he apologized, concern wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Napoleon scoffed. “No,  _zat_  was fine, but what’s wis all zis?” He gestured vaguely at the lower half of his body.

Hhectore squinted at him, brow furrowed. “I was… being nice? Giving you a helping hand? What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, stop eet. I don’t fucking care about you being nice; I didn’t ask you to get me off.”

Hhectore’s eyebrows shot up. “First of all, what the fuck, since when have you been anything but selfish in bed? Second of all, you  _didn’t ask me?_  Since when do I take orders from you?”

Napoleon gave him an incredulous look. “Uh, since always?” Hhectore was suddenly and vividly reminded of every time Napoleon had bossed him around, and he had complied (“Make me a sandwich,” “Suck my dick,” “Go get the shirt that I threw across the room”). “Anyways, you’re getting sloppy, so you’re not allowed to touch me.”

Hhectore should have just left it at that and taken what he could get, because nine times out of ten, Napoleon came first. He never minded, hell, the satisfaction of bringing his partner to climax got him off too – but here was Napoleon, actively _trying_  to make him come first, and he  _should_  have just accepted that gift. But there were some things he just couldn’t let slide.

“I’m  _getting sloppy?_  Are you seriously fucking criticizing me right now?”

“Oh good, your ears work,” Napoleon deadpanned. “Too bad I don’t really care about zat right now. Show me what ozzer body parts work. And yeah, you get sloppy when you’re distracted.”

Hhectore was, in a word, dumbfounded, his mouth gaping in disbelief.

“And close your mous, you look ridiculous like zat.”

“How about you shut the fuck up?” Hhectore snarled, straddling his face and forcing himself down his throat. Too late, he realized that he’d played right into Napoleon’s hand, judging by the way his mouth stretched into a smile around him. He wouldn’t admit it (at least, not right now), but Napoleon was  _good_ , and it fucking infuriated him.

Irritated and impressed in spite of himself, he gripped Napoleon’s hips, thumbs digging into the hollow of his hipbones. Bruises would blossom around the anchors nestled in the V that pointed to his crotch, mottled purple and blue blemishes encroaching on the crisp black tattoos like watercolors bleeding into ink. Hhectore was looking forward to the sight tomorrow morning.

Now, he only cared about less poetic matters, focused on fucking Napoleon’s throat raw (he’d show him how not distracted he could be, even with a bead of precum glistening at the head of that impossibly hard cock and another dripping down the curve of his shaft, just begging to be lapped up or smeared and used as lube). No, he stuck with hard, brutal thrusts, relentless and unyielding.

Napoleon’s hands twisted in the sheets as he gave himself up to Hhectore, relishing the roughness, the sensation of being filled up so completely before it was abruptly taken away, leaving him desperate for more. And  _oh_ , Hhectore gave him exactly what he needed, until he gave one last thrust, and Napoleon swore he felt the throb of his cock as he came, pulsing down his throat.

Once his own breathing evened out a bit, Hhectore pulled back just enough to open up Napoleon’s throat and allow him to catch a breath. He let him savor the release, tongue swirling around the head of his cock as he tried to milk out a few more drops.  _Greedy_ , Hhectore thought dimly, the word lost in the post-coital haze of endorphins. But pleasure quickly turned to overstimulation and he carefully extricated himself from Napoleon’s grip, smirking at the faint noise of protest.

He sat back, giving himself a moment to take in the sight of Napoleon spread on the bed in front of him: fucked breathless, lips parted and eyes half-lidded, his chest heaving with exertion. He let his eyes wander over pink lips, down the greyscale canvas of tattoos that covered his arms, to the sharp jut of his hipbones, flanked by twin anchors. “You’re beautiful,” he said, partly because he knew how much Napoleon liked hearing those words, and partly because it was the only word he could think of that adequately conveyed how attractive he looked right now.

“I know,” Napoleon sighed, giving him a weary but blissful smile, and there it was, that throatiness in his voice he wanted so badly. He motioned to his neck. “Good job, you did eet.”

“Hey, you’re the one who took it like a champ.” Hhectore bent down to kiss him. It was an awkward angle; their lips didn’t quite match up, and Hhectore’s chin bumped his nose, but Napoleon didn’t seem to mind. Still, he thought he’d leave the upside down kisses to the movies. “Mary Jane made that look a lot hotter.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” Hhectore made a mental note to show Napoleon  _Spiderman_ sometime and tugged him onto his lap. He shifted on the bed so that he was propped up against the headboard, Napoleon comfortable between his legs.

“So,” Hhectore said, hand ghosting over the inside of his partner’s thigh. “Do I have your permission to touch you now?”

“Please,” Napoleon breathed, hips arching up, and Hhectore hid a smile by burying his lips in the fluff of his hair. He gripped him tight, hand wrapping around his shaft and squeezing, making Napoleon’s breath hitch in his chest.

He knew Napoleon was desperate to come, so turned on and well fucked that he was nearly delirious with arousal, but he wanted to relish the moment. So he stroked him slowly, torturously, fist pulling tightly along the length of his cock.

Napoleon sighed, leaning his head against Hhectore’s chest, and pressed up into his touch. It was simultaneously too much and not enough, the pressure unbearably good but the pace agonizingly slow. He tried rocking his hips up, hoping to gain some control over the tempo, but Hhectore wasn’t having that tonight. He wrapped his arm around his waist, pinning him flush against his body so he couldn’t move at all.

He was utterly helpless like this, his partner’s iron grip inescapable. The was nothing he could do but wait, needy and flushed, until Hhectore saw fit to drag an orgasm out of him. Thankfully, he was close enough that it didn’t take much to tip him over the brink, not like those nights when Hhectore could edge him for over an hour, bringing him right up to the point of no return before backing off. Just a few more firm tugs and he came, Hhectore’s name on his lips as he spilled across his stomach.

Hhectore let go of his waist so that he could ride out the waves of his climax, hips bucking up erratically. Spent, he bonelessly collapsed against Hhectore.

“Good?” Hhectore asked, circling his arms around him in a loose hug.

“So good,” Napoleon rasped in response, reaching up to touch his bruised, hoarse throat.

“I can make you some tea for that, you know…”

“No. I don’t want to erase all my hard work. Sunday, maybe.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hhectore kissed the top of his head and settled back in bed. Sure, they really needed a good shower, but that could wait a bit. For now, he was content laying there, thinking about how else they’d spend their long weekend. First, though, he needed to voice a thought that dawned on him once Napoleon’s words caught up to him. “… _Your_  hard work?”


End file.
